We haven’t travelled since October and boy have I been hanging out for our winter weekend in Washington all week. So far this morning we slept in (amazing); I made omelettes for breakfast while Daniel talked to Donna on Skype, and complained that my whisking in the metal bowl was too noisy, after having whined for half an hour to cook him an omelette; I jumped up and down around the apartment shrieking at the snow storm outside (it still bears novelty); we walked across Bloor and down the road to the bank where I withdrew cash from my Mastercard (fee-less international exchange by pre-loading via internet banking) to deposit into our woeful bank account (we seem to have spent a lot of money last month) and we patted a dog.
The dog-owner in line in front of me in queue at the bank was telling the elderly woman at the teller that they had been “palpitating” to determine the sexes of the litter. I had to bite my tongue to correct her. Palpation would be insensitive enough to determine fetal sex but an awareness of tachycardia, how would that help!?
We didn’t have to be at Billy Bishop Airport until about noon but we left a bit early anyway to make sure we didn’t get stuck downtown as there is roadwork’s between Union Station and the ferry terminal and the Porter Shuttle Bus has to negotiate this, as well as traffic. On the ferry a young woman behind me said, “Excuse me!” after the ferry made its way the 100 m from terminal to terminal. Was I standing on her foot or talking loudly on my cell phone? No. She just wanted to shove her trolley and mountain of luggage past my leg, into the aisle between me and the man opposite. Maybe they were crushed at the back. No. When the ferry docked she started to try to push her way in front of me, and Daniel. No explanation. No request, as her flight was scheduled to leave in 7 minutes. No apology for her complete lack of planning. “Why don’t you wait?” Daniel asked, smiling. “You can’t move forward anyway.” I was curious that she felt that her life was so much more important than everybody around her that she hadn’t even considered it necessary to offer an explanation for her behaviour. “What time does YOUR flight leave?” she challenged Daniel. Her spectacles had studded fake jewels on the frames. I imagined pushing her off the boat into the icy cold Lake Ontario and smiled.
In the queue at security at the airport there were three men in white shirts: one checks the boarding pass and tells you to push your bags onto the x-ray conveyor belt yourself, the other looks pissed off that you have to walk through a metal detector and the third fails to notice the pile of plastic trays has run out and is piled up at the other side of the checkpoint. One woman was responsible for the x-ray security screening and swabbing the luggage of the teenager with baggy, torn jeans, a belt that said “I ❤ BOOBIES” and a black T shirt emblazoned with, “PIERCED FOR YOUR PLEASURE”. I whispered at Daniel, “I hope it’s pierced through his skull.” The whole queue was held up while this guy was being processed, just like at the check-in queue where in the time he checked in the woman at the counter next to him had processed at least ten people.
Things I like about the Porter lounge: salted almonds and the Franke coffee machine. It’s just like back home in the RPH JMO DCR, except minus the maggots in the coffee machine and without the annoying sound of somebody’s pager going off. And there is clean crockery. It’s nothing like a Junior Medical Officer Doctors’ Common Room actually.